


retrospect

by lokh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5872774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokh/pseuds/lokh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tarantism - the urge to overcome melancholy by dancing. (+a hint of basorexia)</p><p>in which there are many things tanaka's <i>kouhai</i> don't know about him. one of them is that he can dance. and like all other high-schoolers. would prefer to do just about anything other than go through the stress of studying</p>
            </blockquote>





	retrospect

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted to tumblr as a response to an ask meme. as a disclaimer i have no fucking idea how to dance, at all, lmao
> 
> the song is [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACSPWc6qwpk) B^)

When people hear the name Tanaka Ryuunosuke, they typically don’t think of the word ‘dancer’ in any capacity or interpretation of the word being at all associated with him to any degree.

Still, there are lots of things about Tanaka Ryuunosuke that most people would be surprised about. One of them being that he _hadn’t_ been obsessed with volleyball his whole life, and there had been a brief period of his life where he pretty much copied exactly what his older sister did all the way down to toilet schedules. One of those things had been dancing.

He’s pretty sure that she’d stuck with it for so long in an attempt to shake him off (I mean, come _on_. Saeko? The dancing type? She’d gravitated immediately to taiko drumming afterwards), but even she hadn’t counted on him staying even after she’d left. Heck, he’d stuck with it all the way until she got to high school and made him come watch a volleyball game!

It’s not like he’s given it up completely, though. He dances, sometimes - in his room, or when practice is cancelled, or when he hears a particularly good song that is just begging for some good dancing. He also, dances, apparently, whenever he gets too stressed out by things like, say, _finals_.

Well, that’s the story if you choose to believe what he says.

“Why would I lie about something like that,” Tanaka huffs, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. Tsukishima raises a brow, thoroughly unimpressed as he leans against the doorframe. 

“Please. You? Dancing? Whoever was teaching you would’ve gone bankrupt in property damage.”

“ _Rude_. It’s not like you have to stay and watch, you know.”

And it’s true. The only reason Tsukishima even happened upon this tidbit of information is because he’d decided to come to practice uncharacteristically early. Usually the King and Shorty would be there by the time the sun peeked over the horizon, but it wasn’t uncommon for Tanaka to be there even before then, when Tsukishima would usually still be bemoaning his tragic state of wakening.

Still, it’s… intriguing. It’s not so much unbelievable as it is simply hard to believe. Tanaka looks like he doesn’t have a single graceful bone in his body, and here he was trying to tell him that he’d formally practiced _dancing_ , of all things? No, if he was telling the truth, there’s no _way_ Tsukishima would miss this.

“Even if you are telling the truth,” Tsukishima drawls, choosing to ignore Tanaka’s smug smirk, “to want to dance every time you get stressed? You might want to get that looked into.”

Tanaka’s face sours. “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Haven’t you heard of… the _dancing plague_?”

Tanaka stares at him. “You’re just fucking with me.”

“No, no,” Tsukishima says, pushing himself off the wall to step forward, movements radiating earnestness. “It’s true! Haven’t you heard of the Dancing Plague of 1518? In what used to be France, hundreds of people suddenly felt the urge to dance, and did so until they _dropped dead_.”

Tanaka stares even harder. He looks torn between disbelief and taking off for his life, if his tense posture has anything to say about it. Then he quickly shakes his head, as if snapping himself out of something.

“Oh, no. You’re not gonna trick me this time. Either you get out or deal with it, I’m not leavin’.”

Tsukishima pauses, letting it drag out just a bit longer than necessary. Then he sighs, dramatically, dropping his bag to the ground as he sits down.

“Well, looks like I’ll just have to wait till everyone else gets here.”

Tanaka huffs, turning away from his as he squats to get something out of his bag. That something is a small speaker, which he apparently carries around everywhere for this express purpose. Despite himself, Tsukishima is concerned over the state of the thing, because he’s _seen_ how hard Tanaka throws his bag around. Is it even _functional_?

“You better not laugh,” Tanaka says, suddenly, back still turned as he tinkers around with his phone. “Or leave. No leaving and no sayin’ anything till I’m done.”

“Alright, alright, _senpai_. The floor is all yours.”

For Tanaka’s sake, he pretends not to notice the nervousness in his glare as he turns to take position.

An electronic song starts playing from the speakers, what sounds like chiptune filling the gym with tension. Tanaka stands still in the center, bobbing his head slowly, before a lively and loud drum beat shakes the floors in time with his foot. Tsukishima isn’t sure what he expected. Of course, if someone like _Tanaka_ danced, it’d be something like contemporary or hip-hop.

He doesn’t expect what comes _next_.

Tanaka raises himself to the tips of his toes, one foot rising into a sure and powerful _arabesque_.

Tanaka failed to tell him he practiced ballet.

The music gets louder, stronger, and it’s definitely not a song one should be dancing ballet to but he’s doing it anyway, cutting the air with sharp leaps and turns. Then the beat is starting, stopping, each time Tanaka holding a pose with every muscle in his body taut with energy.

Tsukishima finds himself unable to say anything, even if he wanted to. It’s so far from what he could have ever expected out of his senpai that all he can do now is watch dumbfounded, eyes wide with awe. Every line his limbs land on is graceful and beautiful, seeming almost impossible to hold with their weight and mass and yet doing so anyway, a sheer testament of strength.

He’s fast and practiced, disappearing in a rapid _soutenu_ in time with the music - Tsukishima can almost see the sweat sliding down his jaw as he spins, once, twice and again. 

Like this, it’s hard to think that Tsukishima ever doubted him. The sleeves of his practice shirt are strained against his biceps as he holds his arms in first position, and the confidence in which he holds them there shows years of practice.

When he leaps, it’s with a flexibility he hadn’t known him capable of, high off the ground and legs a perfect 180 in a _grand jeté_ (and it’s only then that Tsukishima realizes that he’s not wearing his gym shoes, forgoing them in favor of _en pointe_ shoes).

It’s his expression that really catches Tsukishima’s attention, though. His attention is completely focused on his dancing, eyes fierce and hard with concentration, but he’s - _smiling_ , like he’s forgotten Tsukishima is there and he’s letting himself dance his stress away. 

The thought is there before he can stop himself.

He really, _really_ wants to kiss him.

The music slows, quietens. Tsukishima finds suddenly that he’s breathing again, breath almost inaudible over the volumes Tanaka’s movements speak. Tanaka, curled up on the ground, begins to unfold, arms blooming and pulsing in time with the beat as it builds and builds.

Then all too soon it’s over. The music, finally, fades out, calming to silence. Tanaka holds himself aloft, one arm in the air and the other stretched in front of him, unmoving. Tsukishima can do nothing but stare.

He’s panting with exertion, shoulders heaving slightly as he continues to hold his position. Sweat beads on his forehead, before slipping down, down his nose, down his lip, suffused with red. Tsukishima has to turn away.

“ _Phew_ ,” Tanaka says, suddenly, making Tsukishima jump. He finally relaxes, letting his body sink back to the ground as he goes to turn the speakers off. “Phew. That felt _great._ So, what did you think? Were you impressed by your _senpai_?”

If Tsukishima had been calm enough to notice, he would have heard the slight tremble in his voice, nothing that could be attributed to exhaustion. But he is not calm. He’s still drunk on the display, the raw energy and emotion, and if anyone asks, he’ll say it happened because it’s way too damn early in the morning and his brain isn’t functioning properly. As it is, there’s nothing to stop the words spilling out of his mouth.

“It was _incredible.”_

Tanaka’s eyes widen. Tsukishima realizes, then, that he’s standing now, but even being taller than the upperclassman, he wants to shrink into the ground. They both stare, stock still, and Tsukishima thinks his own head is about to implode from the rush of blood.

“I. Um. Thanks?”

Tanaka’s cheeks are slowly turning pink, nervous laughter bubbling out, and it is doing nothing to assuage the crimson infiltrating Tsukishima’s face. Tanaka runs his tongue over his chapped lips, looking away, and there is _no way_ that this can get any worse.

Then Tsukishima gathers the courage to look back up, and is proven wrong yet another time. Tanaka is still trying not to look at him for too long, but it’s obvious even from here that his eyes are _sparkling_ with pride, warm from praise and threatening to break into a smile.

That unfamiliar urge is bubbling up again. He knew he should’ve just slept in and showed up at his regular time, but no, now he just might do something drastic and completely ruin everything. He’ll have to - have to move out of the _country_ to keep his reputation. Even Yamaguchi can’t know. He has to stop this from happening, right now, _no matter what._

He blurts the first thing that comes to mind.

“You dipshit. How are you going to have any energy left for practice?“


End file.
